No matter what kind of game you find yourself in, no matter how good or bad the luck, you can change your life completely with a single thought or a single act of love.— Gregory David Roberts, author of Shantaram, a novel.

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Poison Pen

This is a book of poetry written while I was in prison in 1982—’83. Although my writing style has changed much and I felt a compulsive need to alter many of these poems as I typed them in for this collection, I resisted. The reason for this is simple. Poison Pen is a reflection of where I was during the years this was written. To be true to myself, to what I was, whether pretty or ugly in the mirror of these times, deep in the passion of my addiction to heroin, I present myself as I was. In the world of poetry there may be many who find fault with my style back then. To these poets, I say that Poison Pen is my truth. It is my testament to the inferno from which I emerged scathed.

There are those who might say some of these poems are politically incorrect. If you are one of those people, I suggest you get into a time machine, travel back to 1982 and ask to be let into Maximum Security at the prison and confront me there.

We’ll talk it over.

I have no apologies for what I was. It was my path at the time.

I have no apologies for what I am today.

Written in Salem, Massachusetts in what they call a sober house. 18 September 1999.

Free Love You can love me the way I am You can leave me the way I am I’m not changing for you I’m just changing.

Written in West Boylston, MA in what they call a house of correction from 1982—’83 by Marc D. Goldfinger

Visiting Hour

Almost visiting hour. I wait. Hoping — As they call Numbers. No names here.

Numbers. Numbers.

I had a name Once, A long time ago. I was free Once, A long time ago. I knew laughter Once, A long time ago. I saw you Once, A long time ago.

They call numbers, But not mine. No number. No name. No visit. I can’t laugh in the mist.